


Save me from me

by Sarkasticfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cute, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Necking on the couch, Steve is the sweetest, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarkasticfics/pseuds/Sarkasticfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/10266.html?thread=22518554#t22518554">this</a> prompt on the Avengers Kinkmeme: </p><p> </p><p>  <i>So, basically, I’d love to see a story that deals with Tony’s response to Steve’s perfect body. If we’re going by the movieverse, Steve looks like he’s in his late twenties and Tony in his early to mid-40’s. So, Tony’s not only a normal human, he’s a good 10 years older, AND has to deal with the arc reactor. Does Steve figure out what’s going on? Does he succeed in putting Tony at ease or does Tony drive him away in a fit of self-sabotage? What does Steve think of the arc reactor? Does it actually gross him out at first, because it’s so alien, even though he’s grateful that it’s keeping Tony alive and it’s a sign of his genius? </i></p><p> </p><p>More or less, it's that. Just, cuter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save me from me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Loss, who kept prompting me to just GO CUTER. I almost named this thing "Let Go Of My Salmon" because by now, I just do everything she says.

"Uh," Steve says, which immediately has Tony on full alert, despite the fact that it's way too early in the morning for that shit. Mr-born-in-the-twenties-mind-your-manners Captain Rogers does not stutter. He does not utter hesitation words like normal people; no 'um's' or 'eh's' or 'look's' for him. This is the first time Tony's heard Steve sound like he isn't sure about what he's going to say.

He turns around with his coffee to find Steve standing in the doorway to the kitchen, more like he's coming in rather than like he's leaving – which, Tony would actually bet cash money that Steve had left and then turned around to come back to do whatever it is he's doing. He looks embarrassed, which is not all that unusual, but he also looks hesitant, which _is_. He's blushing, but that could also just be from the exertion, after being woken up at ass o'clock in the morning to deal with an alien invasion. Tony hasn't had enough coffee for this. 

"Ye-es," Tony says, finally, adding a syllable to the word and watching Steve twitch. 

"I was thinking we could maybe go out sometime," Steve says.

Tony is about to reply that the opportunities for Steve to accompany him to various functions are endless, if he'd like, but something about Steve's face stops him. Steve is looking hopeful, but rather like he expects to be turned down. 

"Sure," Tony finally says, watching Steve's eyes light up. 

"Great!" He says. "Saturday?" 

"Yeah, okay," Tony says, before really thinking about it. It's possible he'll have to rearrange his schedule, but it's Steve. Steve is like a puppy – it's impossible to say no.

"Fantastic," Steve says. He's smiling now, happy, like Tony's made his whole day, which, oh. Oh, fuck.

Tony stares at his coffee before draining the cup, hoping that a fast injection of caffeine will somehow give him the rationality he needs to deal, but no such thing happens. What happens is that when he puts the cup down, Steve is standing right next to him, smiling that wide, boyish grin of his, his hand gently taking hold of Tony's bicep. 

"I just wanted to let you know," Steve says, "that I really like you, Tony." He leans in, faster than Tony can counter, and drops a kiss to the side of Tony's mouth. He's still smiling as he leaves, much faster and much surer than before.

Tony stands there, staring at the door, right hand unconsciously rising to touch the warm spot where Steve kissed him. His bare toes are clenched on the linoleum under his feet, and his left hand is clutching the counter behind him for dear life. There's an odd feeling in his chest – something fluttery and bright, something very nearly electric, and it has nothing to do with his little fashion accessory. 

He's so fucked.

+++

It's really unconscionable, what he's done to the kid. It was just that he'd seemed so wonderfully innocent, and Tony couldn't help teasing him, couldn't help the flirting – he's never been able to help the flirting.

The first time had been after their fourth operation as a team, which had involved sending Clint and Natasha in undercover – and now that Tony's looking, he can see that Steve isn't arbitrary in his orders, that it had killed him that the sensible route involved sending two of his friends into danger – and there had been so many tense moments, so many unforeseeable issues, and they'd all been feeling it. The operation had ended with Tony flying as fast as he could against a countdown he couldn't have beaten, slowly and steadily talking Clint through defusing an IED, snarking with Natasha to keep all three of them calm. 

Steve had remained silent with only the occasional encouragement over the radio so that they'd know he was still there, and after it was all over, after the cleanup crew had moved in to take care of the detritus of the operation, Tony had returned to Ops to find Steve alone, sitting on the floor, propped up against a computer desk, looking very young and very vulnerable.

Tony is not precisely sure about the procession of events following that, because it just seems so improbable; he'd gotten himself out of the suit, talking to Steve all the while, and kneeling down beside him after the suit was taken care of... and then somehow they'd been making out on the floor, Steve panting out his pleasure while Tony pulled him off, whimpering into Tony's mouth when he came. 

They'd stayed like that for a few seconds, Tony still desperately hard, and then there'd been a noise down the corridor and they'd sprung apart, righting themselves, and Tony had sat down for the following meeting so that nobody would notice his arousal. Nobody else but Tony had paid any attention to the way Steve's lips were redder and wetter than usual, and when the meeting had broken up due to Natasha's desperate need to change clothes, they'd all gone their separate ways.

Tony would have written the encounter off as adrenaline or nerves, if he hadn't noticed the way Steve kept shooting him looks, like he was waiting for Tony to say something, but Tony hadn't been able to figure out what to say, much less how to say it. 

And then there had been the mission where they'd almost lost Steve, and Tony remembers little of the lead up, just remembers appropriating someone's office on the Helicarrier, afterwards, remembers Steve firm and alive underneath him, remembers that Steve begged him to fuck him, the noise Steve made when Tony finally bottomed out inside him. He remembers the little groans Steve had let out as they moved together, remembers the marks his own fingers had left on Steve's hips - indistinct and impermanent, with Steve's healing, but there for the moment – and he remembers the hitch of Steve's breath when he came, pulling Tony along. 

After, in the hazy space post-orgasm, they'd pulled themselves together, Steve still wonderfully dishevelled – but they'd said nothing, instead opting to go about their day like nothing had happened. 

Tony's noticed that Steve's been acting more free, seemed a little easier in his skin, lately, which is good, but he's also caught Steve staring at him, eyes dark and oddly possessive, and he feels like an old creep who's despoiled something beautiful, because he doesn't feel quite worthy of those glances.

And now Steve's made his position clear, in the most direct way possible. Tony is, to be honest, not used to those methods. 

He's not used to people claiming to 'really like' him, either, especially not after two furtive encounters where neither party had even properly taken off their clothes. 

Which, in turn makes him realize that if he wants this, he's going to have to take off his clothes. Next to _Steve._

+++

He'd be lying if he said he never noticed. Steve is, to borrow a phrase from Pepper, _fiiiine_. There's no getting around this; Steve is the picture of masculine perfection, from his blond mop of hair on down, and the blue eyes and square jaw, not to mention that improbably well-sculpted ass, all speak to the fact that Steve, in short, is built like a greek god. And he's young, god, it hadn't really registered for Tony, but Clint had done the math; in years he's actually been awake for, Steve is just under twenty four. 

Tony, however, is pushing forty three, and he's not too terrible in the looks department; generally speaking, he knows his face works, and he works out enough in the Iron Man suit that he shouldn't compare too unfavourably. Well, apart from the age thing, which he'll deny he's feeling with his dying breath if he has to. 

Except there's the small matter of... scars. Tony's had a lot of sex, even after his little... sojourn... in Afghanistan. People have generally been indifferent or at the very least accepting of his little souvenir, even if some have obviously tried to ignore it. Tony's never blamed them, it is what it is; an enormous hole in his sternum, wherein rests a piece of technology so advanced that most people still have no concept of what it means. He's never been particularly bothered about what others would make of it, because most people are honestly idiots, but – most people aren't Steve, and Steve isn't most people.

Tony has built an entire life on not giving two shits about what other people think. He's allowed himself to care about Pepper, about Rhodey, and lately, a little bit about his team, though he'll not let their opinions influence him. Generally speaking, he's found that the only authority on himself that matters is his own, so why listen to some ill-informed idiot pontificate on a subject he knows nothing about? Tony's been a slut half his life, and he's never particularly cared what his partners think, beyond making sure everyone has a good time. 

But this is _Steve_ , and Steve is special. Notwithstanding that Steve himself is a rather perfect specimen of manhood, Steve is just so damn young and naive and unspoilt, as far as Tony knows, at least apart from what Tony himself has wrought.

And Tony, if he's being honest with himself, doesn't want anybody else to ever get to do that. He likes him, goddamnit, and so he cares about what he thinks, and it's _unbearable_. 

+++

"Oh my god," Pepper yells, "Tony, what is your problem?" 

Tony looks up, blearily, from where his chin is wedged into his elbow, his cheek resting on his bicep as he watches the analytical data readout scroll down the computer screen. By now, it goes way too fast for him to follow, but he catches something about salinity levels on there and makes a mental note to check them, just in case. 

"I go to Seattle for four days, _four days_ , Tony, and you forget to eat and sleep and, ugh, bathe! You're a grown man! I thought we had this covered!" 

"I've eaten," Tony protests, because first, no way it's been more than two days, second, he totally has eaten. 

Pepper levels him with a look of amused desperation – and this is why he loves her, right here, he should've stuck with Pepper, shouldn't he?

"Wasabi nuts are not food," she says, but he can hear the way she's fighting back a laugh. "Oh my god, when Bruce told me you freaked out at Thor because he broke the toaster – which he does every week, I thought you'd bought stock in Electrolux – and then Jarvis said you'd been in your workshop for three days, I thought something was seriously wrong." She sits down in the rolling chair that visitors to his lab use, scooting closer and pulling at his elbow until Tony's slouched, his head resting on her shoulder. 

"Nothing's wrong," Tony says, immediately, because nothing _is_. "I just got caught up in... things." 

"Mmmm, things," Pepper says, sagely. She's stroking a hand through his hair – which must be seriously gross, if it's really been three days, this is why Pepper is the _best_ \- and nodding. "Things will catch up with you if you're not careful." 

"Are you making fun of me, Miss Potts?" Tony asks, halfheartedly. 

"Always, Mr. Stark," she replies without missing a beat. 

"I started out with the tidal energy generators," Tony tells her. It's even true; after blowing up about Thor's utter inability to operate basic electronics like a normal human being, which in hindsight was a dick move of him, he'd come in here intending to blow off steam by working on one of his more frustrating pet projects. And then he just... never left.

"And then you remembered that people leave you alone when you're in mad scientist mode, I get it," Pepper says. "Well, if you haven't figured it out with a three-day long work spree, I don't think it's going to magically come to you if you sit here any longer. How about we go do some of those normal people things, and you can get back to it after you've apologized to Thor. And I'll tell Clint to stop sabotaging the toasters." 

Tony blinks as she pulls him up, clearing the fog from his vision. "Clint's been sabotaging the toasters?" he asks. 

"I don't have any proof, I just have suspicions," Pepper says. "Now, you're going to shower and brush your teeth, and then we can have lunch and go over what you've been hiding from for the past four days." 

"Or we could just have lunch?" Tony tries. "We could go out..." 

"Or we could stay in," Pepper replies firmly. "Now shoo."

Tony knows when he's been beat. He shoos. 

+++

Pepper is in their lounge when Tony comes back from the bathroom, feeling considerably more fresh and a lot less gritty around the edges... and hungry. Very hungry. So he's especially glad to notice that she's had someone lay out a spread – Italian, by the smell of it. He wishes, and not for the first time, that they could've found a way to make it work. 

She looks up when she hears him, and her face immediately turns a little sad. "Don't look at me like that, Tony," she says softly. "We both know that we can't." 

It'd taken three weeks in the lab before Tony was ready to come out after their relationship finally dissolved, and he only did it because Bruce came in and refused to leave before Tony did. And while Tony's desk cabinet was well stocked with snacks, his wasabi nuts only went so far for two people.

"Yeah. Sorry," he says, dropping down on the end of the sofa closest to the pasta Alfredo. "Be easier, sometimes, is all." 

He's moved on to the puttanesca before Pepper speaks up. "I got an interesting phone call from Steve, while I was in Seattle." Tony swallows and braces himself. "He wanted to know where to get 'nice clothes, like Tony has', and when I asked him why he didn't just ask you, he went very quiet, before admitting he was taking you out on a date. I think he expected me to be upset." 

Tony frowns. "So, if you already knew all this, why did you ask what was wrong when you came to the lab, earlier?" 

Pepper looks at him, steadily. "Well, because I thought this was a good thing," she says. 

"Well," Tony says, thinking hard how to put it. "I mean, it's Steve," he finally says, helplessly. "Steve is obviously a good thing." 

Pepper grins. "So where's the bad? I've never known you to be worried that something might not work out..." 

Tony groans, because he actually hadn't thought that far yet, and Pepper is _not helping_. 

"It's just..." he says, "I'm going to let him get it out of his system, okay? We just did a couple of things, and it was really only the adrenaline... he won't actually want to date me." 

Pepper is staring at him, and Tony wants to tell her not to try to argue with him – there's no way this is anything but misplaced emotion on Steve's part, but hey, maybe he'll get to have some fun and Steve's too good to lead him on. 

"That was not the impression I got," she says slowly. "He said he'd told you he liked you." 

Tony wrinkles his nose at her. "He's twenty four, Pepper," he says. "He should find someone with less... baggage." 

Pepper's eyes widen, and Tony wonders what she's figured out. Something insightful that he hasn't, no doubt. "Oh," she says, softly. "You're actually worried what he'll think. I thought you guys had already..." she makes a crude hand gesture that under other circumstances would make Tony laugh. 

"We did, but it was... post mission." 

Pepper grins, and Tony regrets providing her with so much material, but there's no way around it. "So you just went at each other without taking your clothes off?" she asks. "Men." 

Tony rolls his eyes. "We were rather in a hurry," he says wryly. "So yeah, we fixed our clothes and went on our way."

"So he hasn't seen the reactor, and you actually care what he thinks, and you don't know what to do with that, and you're going on a date tonight," Pepper says, which makes Tony startle. 

"Tonight?" he asks. "Jarvis, what's the date today?" 

He sure didn't program it in himself, but Tony imagines that Jarvis sounds just a little bit amused when he answers. "It's two pm on Friday the 17th of August. In case you were wondering, you and Mr. Rogers have a reservation at seven, sir." 

+++

By the time-six thirty rolls around, Pepper has laughed herself sick at his expense, Tony has taken another shower, discarded no less than four different suits as being either too fancy or too flashy, and is wondering how, at forty three, he's acting like a teenager.

At Pepper's suggestion, and after interrogating Jarvis about _where_ Steve has made a reservation – which included him resorting to such underhanded tactics as mournfully mentioning source code – he's wearing jeans and a shirt with one of his nicer suit jackets, and feeling sorry for every one of his dates he ever stood up, because once he's ready, the waiting is _agonizing_. 

Steve, unsurprisingly, knocks on the door exactly at the appointed time – and Pepper, the traitor, shoots Tony a grin as she exits stage left through the door to their common library. 

At least half the reason she's so pleased with herself becomes evident when Tony sees Steve. "Oh," he says dumbly. "She sent you to my tailor on Tenth Avenue." 

Steve blushes. "I told her that I didn't need anything that fancy, but she said something about future events and also that you'd be able to tell," he says hesitantly. 

"No, it's good, I like it," Tony says, which is a lie, because he can barely takes his eyes off of it. Rather than the standard, boring black, Steve is wearing a suit that is gunmetal gray, offset with a dove gray shirt and a navy tie. The fit – as should be expected from Mr. Iida, who only does the finest work – is perfect, making Steve look even more impossibly broad-shouldered than he usually is. 

"So, where are we going?" Tony asks, even though he already knows.

"There's a place out in Brooklyn I thought you might enjoy... and after we could maybe catch a movie?" Steve is smiling at him, as they walk down the corridor towards the elevators, and Tony thinks he might be losing it. Dinner and a show. Isn't that just perfect?

+++

The place out in Brooklyn turns out to be a small French Bistro, of the kind that are a dime a dozen in New York, except this one seems to take itself less seriously if anything, while being vastly more authentic, if Tony's any judge. He isn't particularly surprised when the owners come out to greet Steve personally – of course he's been here before – but he is surprised when Steve talks to them in basic but perfectly serviceable French. 

They get the nicest table in the house, of course, a small table in a shaded alcove by the window, and Tony wishes he could say he were surprised when Steve doesn't order anything but the wine, and in doing so requests assistance from Tony. Everything else seems to have been decided by the chef, and once the food starts arriving, they get too busy eating to have much of a conversation, because some of it is honestly the best food Tony has had in years.

"How did you find this place?" Tony asks, after the waiter has refreshed their glasses and cleared away the plates of the first main course. "Most New Yorkers live here their whole lives and still wouldn't have a place like this up their sleeve." 

Steve leans back in his chair, and his smile is bittersweet. "A friend of mine married a French girl, as it turns out," he says. "They came back here after the war, started a restaurant. Marceline, who runs it now, is their granddaughter. She's taken great care of me."

"He still alive?" Tony asks, when it looks like Steve won't volunteer any more information. 

"No," Steve says. "He hung on for a long time, though, died in 2007." 

Tony is saved from having to offer meaningless condolences by the arrival of the second main course, and once they resume their conversation, they focus on other things – there's always work, or their other housemates at Avengers' tower. 

They manage to maintain the easy conversation through the rest of dinner, and on their stroll to the cinema. Tony is amused that Steve has planned for them to see Dr. No, but James Bond isn't a bad choice for the evening – he might even have chosen it himself, if he'd had the evening free, but Steve swears up and down that his choice for entertainment was in no way influenced by Pepper, eventually admitting to having resorted to getting Bruce's advice. Tony plans to have stern words with Bruce about using a man's weaknesses against him, but, later.

It isn't until they're wandering along back towards the restaurant, after the movie, that they run out of easy topics – or maybe they're just both aware that they should really acknowledge what it is that they're doing. 

"So," Tony finally says, "I've had a really good time tonight." It's not a lie, either – Steve is a surprisingly great storyteller, and the evening has been pleasant, if a little unlike any date Tony has ever been on before. 

Steve half smiles. "We should do this again sometime," he says, as if on cue, and they both laugh nervously at themselves. It's good, though, because it breaks the ice, and lets Tony be a little more frank than he otherwise could've been.

"So, all jokes aside," he says, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. "What happens now?" 

Steve takes a deep breath. "Well," he says. "I've been informed that what happens now is that either you invite me up for coffee, or I walk you to your door, and if I'm lucky, get a good night kiss." He sounds a little wry about the whole thing, as if he's learned them by rote. "Also, I've been informed that if I say I'm going to call you, I should call you the next day, not three days from now, though I believe that advice to be redundant in this case." 

Tony smirks at that, because the entire thing is almost so old fashioned as to be ridiculous, but this is _Steve_. 

"Let me rephrase that," he says. "What do you want to do?"

He's a little surprised when Steve looks him up and down, before looking away and blushing. "I want," Steve says, voice low and raspy, "to take you home and get to know you better. That's what I've wanted all along. But if that means we have coffee and talk..." 

Tony's mouth feels a little dry when he answers. "No, I don't really think we need the coffee," he says. 

Steve looks up, and for a moment, Tony thinks they might not be on the same wavelength here, but then Steve puts his hand on Tony's arm, pulling him closer, until Tony is standing between Steve's feet, one of Steve's hands wrapped around him, and Steve leans down to kiss him, soft and sweet and gentle. 

+++

When they slide out of the car in the parking garage under Avengers Tower, as it's now called, Steve moves around the car to take Tony's hand. 

It's not a move that Tony has had employed on him a lot, but it's absolutely in character for Steve, who had smiled so wide his face had to hurt whenever he'd looked over at Tony on the way back. Tony is used to being shiny and new and exciting, but not in this honest, uncomplicated way that Steve has. He's never been escorted by a date before, and crossing even the short distance to the private elevator that leads to the Avengers' residence with his hand in Steve's has him off-kilter, strangely lit up. His right hand shakes when he puts it out to steady himself for the retina scan, but he doesn't let go of Steve with his left hand.

Steve is looking down at him, when he straightens, with a small, private smile on his lips, and Tony can't help the way his own lips creep upwards, and by the time they make the penthouse floor, he almost feels like giggling to himself. 

"Oh," Steve says, when they get out of the foyer and into the main room. "I've seen it before, but..." he trails off, and Tony thinks he knows what he's trying to say; that this is Steve's city and she's sparkling now, the damage from the Chitauri attack largely mended, and it's a clear night; the view stretches for miles. 

"Go on, stare," Tony says, letting go of Steve's hand, not letting it feel anything but natural. "I'm going to get myself a drink, do you want anything?"

"Beer," Steve says distractedly, drifting towards the panorama windows. "If you've got European."

"I think I can swing that," Tony says, ordering his hands to stop shaking so he can pour himself a whiskey and soda and get the cap off Steve's bottle. When he joins Steve at the window, the other man is staring out over the city, a slightly melancholy look on his face, and for all that Tony likes him when he smiles, melancholy suits him well, makes his features sharper, less cookie-cutter. With the city lights casting a tungsten glow over him, and the Empire State building in the background, Tony feels like he's stepping into an old movie, like he ought to be smelling cigarette smoke and hair pomade and whatever that scent was his father wore. 

Steve accepts the bottle and takes a long swig, before doing a small side-stepping gesture that puts him within touching distance of Tony. "There didn't use to be a building there, back when I was growing up," he says, and points out the window, and that's how they're off, Steve talking about his childhood with soft reverence, Tony trying contextualize everything from mobile phones to reality television, until they're both laughing at each other and mock-arguing, because there really is no way to explain reality TV, least of all the Jersey Shore variant.

Steve looks older when he laughs, Tony thinks, stupidly, in the middle of his own giggling fit. His eyes crinkle and he holds himself differently, and he's so unbearably handsome that Tony almost doesn't notice what he's doing until it's already done, until he's reached out and tugged Steve closer by his (very expensive, Tony will have to buy him more) silk tie, until Steve is crowding him up against the glass wall, hands on either side of Tony's shoulders, and of course he'd get infatuated with someone so _tall_ , he thinks, before Steve leans down and kisses him, barely a brush of lips, there and gone. 

Tony flutters his eyes open by sheer force of will - and when he closed them he's not sure - to see Steve hovering over him, barely two inches between their lips, like he's waiting for permission... and this is Steve, of course he's waiting for permission. Tony leans up - _up_ , how ridiculous – and kisses him back, and evidently that's all the permission Steve needs, because holy hell, the guy is a really good kisser. 

One of Steve's hands settles on Tony's hip, gentle but still somehow warm through the material of Tony's shirt and undershirt, and then there is a hand winding through Tony's hair, not holding him or directing his head, just stroking the nape of Tony's neck, and really, Tony needs to move this away from the window or he's going to be in serious danger of swooning. 

"Sofa," he mutters into Steve's mouth, pushing away from the wall, and Steve smiles, which Tony can _feel_ but not _see_ because they're so close, and they stumble, still kissing, over to the enormous sofa opposite Tony's colossal entertainment system. He's a little surprised when Steve turns them just as they're not-quite-falling onto the seat so that Steve is half lying under Tony's sprawled form, his head against an armrest.

Steve is humming in his throat as he pulls Tony close again, in for another kiss, more kisses, his hands wandering over Tony's back and shoulders, over his head, tangling in his hair, and Tony feels every touch like burning, even through his layers, every plane of skin where their bodies rest against each other, everywhere, that is, except for in the middle of his chest, where the metal rim of the arc-reactor frame has to be pressing a mark into Steve's chest. 

He can feel himself freeze, the way he needs more oxygen, the way he needs more _space_ , and there's nothing gentle or considerate about the way he breaks their kiss, jerking back to kneel over Steve's hips, Steve's hot erection pressing a damning line into the inside of Tony's thigh like it's a goodamn brand until Tony shifts up and back so he's sitting somewhere closer to Steve's knees, chest heaving. His own erection feels heavy and thick between his legs, his heart rabbiting with either desire or panic, and he catches his breath in his throat, closing his eyes and trying hard to get himself under control. 

"Tony," Steve says, softly, and there's a warm pressure at Tony's knee, Steve's hand so very hesitant but there all the same. 

"I'm sorry," he says, as soon as he has the breath to speak. "I'm sorry, we can..." he tries to lean down again, but Steve's hands are on his shoulders, stopping him, and Steve's eyes are very blue and very goddamn understanding when they look at him. 

"Don't try to tell me you're ready, Tony," Steve says. "Not after that." 

He feels like sobbing, like screaming at the world, because it's so unfair, he's going to lose this before he even got to have it, Steve realizing that he's broken before Tony even gets a chance to show him how he can be good. 

"There's plenty of time," Steve says. "We've got plenty of time, there's really no reason to rush," and Tony slumps down in relief, his head on Steve's shoulder, and he gets his breath back under control with Steve stroking his back and ruffling his hair, dropping kisses into his hairline and holding him closer and closer, until Tony gives in and lets himself curl up under Steve's arm, the warmth and the care and the patience making him lightheaded.

+++

It gets... well, it gets slightly ridiculous after that. 

Steve had left that night, with a goodbye kiss to Tony's cheek, and despite everything Steve had said, he'd half expected to be ignored the next morning – but that had been him underestimating Steve Rogers, which he's learning not to do. 

Instead, Steve had turned up in Tony's kitchen with a cup of coffee and a soft kiss to his lips, and Tony had been left standing dumbfounded in the middle of his kitchen, vastly too undercaffeinated to cope mentally with any of this, which, he supposes, is why Steve probably brought him coffee in the first place. 

The morning incursions become a regular thing, as do others – in fact, Steve is sort of quietly finding places to fit himself into Tony's life on a day to day basis. There's mornings, and sometimes lunch, maybe even afternoons, if Tony is working from home, Steve sitting on the fold out sofa in Tony's workshop surrounded by half-empty cups of coffee and paperwork, and most of the time there's the evenings, where Steve is obviously in cahoots with Jarvis, because he turns up without fail just as Tony is getting ready to wind down. 

They're ostensibly trying to catch Steve up on modern culture, because they often end up with movies or TV shows playing in the background as they kiss, sitting side by side on the sofa, leaning into each other, or while Steve holds him, plays with his hair or rubs his shoulders, and Tony would bet that Steve hasn't been paying much attention to the flow of media across the television at all, what with all the kissing. 

The kissing – the kissing really is in a league of its own. The only relationship Tony's ever had that didn't immediately graduate to the physical was Pepper, and even Pepper was not this happy to just make out. Steve kisses like he breathes, like he wants to breathe Tony in, like he wants to memorize the contours of his face, the curve of the nape of his neck, and he never, ever puts it any further than that. There's no touching below the belt, no poking of anything sensitive, no attempts to pull Tony's shirts out of his pants to get at the skin beneath. It's at the same time maddening and comforting. 

Steve isn't afraid to touch people. He will get Clint's attention with a hand on his shoulder, curl an arm casually around Natasha when she does the impossible again, will indulge in whatever silly, belly-slapping, secret-handshake, possibly half-made-up ritual that Thor comes up with that day, and, at least according to Pepper, gives the world's best revitalizing oh-I'm-so-sorry-you've-had-a-shitty-day-at-work bear hugs _ever_. 

And it's not like he's wary of touching Tony – he touches Tony all the time, to the point where Clint has started making the occasional gagging noise when Steve slings an arm around Tony's back, pulling him in until their hips touch, or when Steve kisses Tony goodbye, or hello, or really, for any reason he can seem to think of. 

Though post-mission 'god, I'm so glad to see you in one piece' kisses are the ones most likely to get accompanied by a soundtrack from the peanut gallery, if Tony's being honest. 

Steve is, for lack of a better description, a perfect gentleman. Even when Tony can feel that he's desperately hard, even when Tony can tell that pulling away is costing him, Steve always does. Tony doesn't understand it. He's waiting for Steve to pull him in, waiting for them to crash and burn and flicker out eventually, waiting for Steve to realize that Tony is old and used and held together with wires and stubbornness, but that's never going to happen if they don't move past necking on the couch, as Steve calls it. 

Tony is almost entirely sure that he's unhappy with the way things are. _Almost_ entirely sure. Because every time Steve leaves, every time Tony closes his eyes for a goodbye kiss, he's banking the desperate urge to _know_ , to get it over with and let the pieces fall where they will – but he also knows that historically, the game hasn't played out in his favour. So. _Almost_.

+++

It's Bruce who finally unravels it for him. 

It's a Saturday afternoon, and him and Steve have a date that evening. They still go out, by now regulars at Marceline's, and they still watch old movies in the small dinky theatre within walking distance from the restaurant. They've tried other things, too, but dinner and a show is what they've always returned to, for what is now a weekly standing engagement. 

He is, for lack of a better word, _grousing_ , though he maintains that he's got every right to be, considering that their last date ended in fairly public humiliation. Natasha caught them making out against the door to Tony's rooms – Steve had been trying to leave for the better part of fifteen minutes, but somehow neither of them could tear themselves away. There had been nothing incriminating to see, nothing to really make fun of, except maybe for the slightly juvenile behavior, but still, somehow, Tony has ended up with the short end of the stick this week, everybody apparently taking it upon themselves to tell him what he already knows, that Steve really likes him. 

"Hey," Bruce says, finally, cutting Tony off in mid-sentence. Out of all of them, Bruce is the only one who hasn't said a peep about any of this so far, so Tony's not really expecting it when Bruce turns his chair around to look at Tony seriously, reaching over to turn off Tony's screens for good measure. 

"Listen, Tony," he says, and Tony doesn't get where he's going with that until it's too late to head him off at the pass. "You need to make a decision. It's not fair to string Steve along, even if you don't know what you want." 

Tony sputters, and Bruce smiles sadly at him. "He's completely gone on you, you know, so if you're going to break his heart, you better do it as clean as you can."

Which as least is original, in terms of phrasing, rather than the whole _really likes you_ bullshit the others had all been trying to get him to listen to. "Steve is the one who's waiting," he finally counters, because that, right there, is why Bruce is wrong. 

"Yes," Bruce says, in a tone that implies he might as well be talking to a very small child. "He's waiting for you."

Which... makes a surprising amount of sense, actually.

+++

"Will you come up to mine?" Tony asks as the elevator doors are closing behind them. Steve is holding his hand, his grip firm and warm, and Tony's just surprised that considering they've been holding hands most of the evening, Steve hasn't noticed Tony's erratic pulse. 

"If I'm invited," Steve teases, and Tony gives him a wan smile, pressing the button for the penthouse floor, squeezing his hand tighter as the elevator starts to rise. 

There's a certain rhythm to their post-date nightcaps by now; Tony offers Steve a drink, they drink together, they talk about whatever comes to mind, and then they kiss on the sofa until their lips are chapped and one of them has the wherewithal to leave. Sometimes – most times – they end up turning a goodbye kiss at the door into an extra makeout session. 

Steve almost certainly notices Tony's distraction, but apart from asking if he's all right, he doesn't comment on it. Instead he's softer, gentler, fingers trailing over Tony's collar bones as they kiss, and when he kisses Tony goodbye for the last time up against the door, it's on the forehead, not the lips, Steve's warm hand pressed against Tony's cheek. 

Tony's heart is beating almost painfully in his chest, the lump in his throat enormous and _painful_ , and he'd counted on having a little more time, just a few more seconds, just a few more moments to get the words out, somehow, but now Steve is halfway down the corridor towards the elevator and...

"Steve." He forces the word past the catch in his breath, and it wasn't very loud, but Steve stops and turns around. He looks hopeful.

"Could you come back here?" Tony asks, and Steve doesn't hesitate, just walks back, opens his arms and Tony takes a step into Steve's warmth, held against Steve's chest. 

Steve looks like he wants to ask again what's wrong, but he doesn't and Tony's grateful. He pulls back a little, holding out a hand, and Steve takes it, lets himself be led, hushed and quiet, through Tony's living room and down the corridor, into his bedroom. 

He'd expected, after all this waiting, that they'd have hot, urgent sex, that it'd be desperate and fast and athletic. Instead, Steve smiles at him, pulling him back into his arms, and Tony closes his eyes to listen to the familiar sound of Steve's heartbeat. When Steve lets him go, he steps back, bringing his hands up to start unbuttoning his shirt, but Steve takes his hands, holds them and shakes his head. 

"Let me," he says, and Tony's hands end up on Steve's hips while Steve unbuttons his shirt, easing it off Tony's shoulders with a care that an article of clothing doesn't really deserve. He keeps it up, too, moving slowly to unbuckle Tony's belt, to pull Tony's pants down, and he kneels to take care of the shoes and socks, Tony's hands resting on his shoulders while Steve is on his knees at his feet. 

"What about you?" he finally asks, when Steve stands up, and the other man grins. 

"I don't care about me," he says, his fingers curling under the hem of Tony's undershirt, and Tony closes his eyes when Steve pulls it over his head, exposing the ugly, mottled skin around the arc reactor casing, the fine tracery of scars around the gaping hole in his chest. He's not sure what he's waiting for, but a strong arm around his shoulders wasn't it, an embrace wasn't even on the list.

"Tony," Steve says, leaning down to drop a kiss on the top of Tony's shoulder, making Tony shiver at the touch. 

"Get in bed?" Steve says, making it sound like a suggestion, though Tony obeys it like it's an order, watching as Steve goes around turning lights off and on until the room is dim but not dark, as he undresses fast and efficiently at the side of the bed, leaving just his boxers on. 

This way, the brightest light in the room is the one emanating from Tony's chest and Steve hones in on it, finding Tony in the middle of the bed, and he makes a soft huff of laughter, leaning down for a kiss. Tony arches up into it, greedy for it, kissing familiar and trusted, they've done that a lot, and it isn't until Steve's fingers brush a nipple that Tony jerks out of the safe little bubble of Steve's lips on his. 

Steve smiles down at him, lying on his side next to Tony, and he's got his fingers trailing down what's left of Tony's sternum, the touch raising a trickling sensation in its wake, the dullness of the lack of sensation around the arc reactor abating for a while. 

Ever since starting this thing with Steve, Tony hasn't been going out – he hasn't been bringing people home to satisfy the occasional urge. It wasn't even a conscious decision at the time, just something that happened once he realized that Steve would be there no matter when he came home, but it means that Tony hasn't been touched like this in a while – and considering that Steve is leaning over him, reverentially mapping Tony's broken chest with his fingers, it's entirely possible that he hasn't been touched like this ever. 

Especially not with someone like Steve – and Tony looks, of course he looks, they're half-naked in bed together, and he wasn't wrong about Steve's physique – looking at him with fondness and affection, eyes half-shut like he's pleased just to be allowed to touch Tony. It's so intimate and sweet that Tony can't stand it, doesn't know what to do with all of it, so he leans up, until Steve is on his back grinning up at him, and with Steve's long expanse of muscled perfection beneath him, Tony feels like he can breathe again, in the knowing what to do to make Steve feel good. 

He avoids kissing Steve's lips, because he couldn't promise he could move on from there, instead putting his mouth on the tendons of Steve's neck, licking and biting and sucking his way downwards, over Steve's collarbones and down his – perfect, unmarred – chest, until Steve puts his arms around him, holding him close and firm and steady, not letting him go any lower. "Mmmm, Tony," he rumbles, and then he's flipping them over again, kissing him slow and sweet, before repeating what Tony had done – kissing down his neck and discovering the weak spot on Tony's left shoulder with a chuckle, before moving down, until he's lapping at the edge of the scars, caressing the skin around the arc reactor like the thing is a precious jewel, like the scars aren't a remnant of the worst that Tony has to offer. 

"Let me," Steve mutters into the skin below his ribs, and Tony's heart feels like it's skipping out on some beats as Steve's hands stroke down his sides, fingers hooking in the waistband of Tony's boxers. It's what he'd offered Steve, and Steve has refused, only to offer it to him in turn, and Tony realizes that he _wants_ it, he wants desperately to have Steve looking at him like this every time they see each other, wants desperately to be able to walk into Steve's open arms whenever he feels like it, wants Steve to kiss him without remorse and bring him coffee in the morning and give Clint the finger when he makes gagging noises, and it's not even about the sex anymore, the way Tony wants Steve to _never stop touching him_. 

And Steve, Steve is perfect, Steve somehow just _knows_ , and even before Tony has figured out what the hell it is that he's feeling Steve's lying next to him, an arm around his shoulders, Steve's rough voice whispering endearments into Tony's hair. 

" _Steve_ ," he gasps, and Steve chuckles, spreading his fingers below Tony's ribcage, holding him still and close. 

"You're so gorgeous," Steve mutters into his shoulders, face turned into the pillow, his nose tickling the hair behind Tony's ear. "You're so fucking strong, Tony," he adds, and he _brings a finger up to circle the rim of the reactor_ , and the want slams into Tony all of a sudden, arousal making him dizzy.

"Steve," he repeats, voice urgent now, and Steve lets him turn around in the circle of his arms, brings him in closer until they can kiss, and this is different from all the other times, this is kissing with _intent_ , and this time, it's Tony hooking his fingers under the waistband of Steve's boxers, and Steve lets him, shifts around until Tony can pull the boxers off and repeat the shimmy himself, leaving them both naked and tangled in each other's arms. 

Tony doesn't know what he wants, just that he _does_ , and he's going to end up begging for it, he thinks, until Steve hooks a foot behind Tony's knees, pulling him in, until they're touching from chest to knee. "God, Tony," Steve breathes, angling his head for a kiss, and Tony's almost too distracted to notice when Steve wraps a hand around both of them, the warmth and the sudden pressure making his breath stutter. 

Steve breaks the kiss to start moving his hand, looking like he's concentrating, and Tony's not going to need much, not with the sheer amount of heat between them, Steve hot and hard against him, Steve's big hand moving slow and perfect over both of them, and he whimpers into Steve's shoulder, tries to move his hips into the way Steve strokes him, and when Steve tightens his other arm around Tony's waist, pulling him even closer, Tony breaks, his orgasm washing through him, not hard and fast like usual, but slow and lingering. 

He opens his eyes just in time to see Steve come, feeling the way the tension washes through his body, pressed against Tony's, Steve's hand stuttering in it's rhythm, and Steve's eyes flutter shut, and he's so beautiful in that moment Tony can't help but kiss him, knowing he's being demanding but Steve pulls him in so he doesn't seem to mind. 

They kiss until they have to come up for air, until they're breathless and laughing with it when they break apart, and the first thing out of Steve's mouth once he's got his breath back is, "I love you." 

He's smiling as he says it, eyes crinkled up at the corners, his arm still around Tony's back like he can't bear to let go, and Tony goes cold with terror, because he knows, he knows...

"Me too," he whispers back, voice hoarse, remembers the last time he felt this way, the first time he flew in the Iron Man armour, and dredges up a smile, because that hadn't turned out so bad, had it?

+++


End file.
